Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in United Kingdom

Warning: avoid Woolwich at all costs, avoid Greenwich Peninsula shopping centre in New Charlton after Trisha finishes.

As Chavham is the centre of the chav universe its only natural for them to multiply outward from this point. The population of these vermin continues to increase and they are spreading westward along the Thames. The swarm has reached and infected Woolwich. When the wind is coming from the east, we poor residents of Charlton are overwhelmed by the unmistakable odour of chavdom wafting from Woolwich. The rank combination of L&B, piss, and
Lynx fills the air like a toxic cloud.

Now the chavs are on the march again towards Charlton. They have been drawn like moths to a flame to the Greenwich Peninsula shopping area. This one seems to have been built with the discerning chav/oxygen thief in mind, I s**t thee not. A quick tour is in order. After filling up on lard and sugar water at the Woolwich Gregg’s, the shopping chav boards the 161 bus with her hummer sized push chair containing unrestrained, undernourished, grey skinned, Kylieees and Myleeeeens for the trip to Charlton. Woolwich chavs don’t seem to be able to scrape enough giro or cash converters’ income (read proceeds from theft) together for a nova. Not even ‘Yes car’ would say yes to this lot.

First stop is HMV, so the chav can shoplift the latest crap rap disk from the latest talentless ‘gangsta’. Next there are no less than three sports shops including Sport World and that mecca of Haute chavtoure, JJB. After selecting a new pink velour trackie bottom the chavette descends on Argos. Speaking of trackie pants, when are Greenpeace going to start protesting the mindless slaughter of thousands of innocent baby Orlons, Dacrons, and
Nylons used to clothe the chav masses? Not to mention the cruel way that Polyesters are kept caged and raised for their skins.

Back to Argos now, its not just any old Argos but an ‘Argos Extra’. I guess that means they have more than one person working there. The fashion conscious chavs are queued up at the Elizabeth Duke counter from the moment Trisha finishes until closing, taking a break every 20 mins to power inhale a couple of superkings in the parking lot. Its only a matter of time before they all suffer from lead poisoning from wearing that gold sprayed roofing lead. I have discovered that ‘bling’ is in fact an old Navajo Indian word for shite. Maybe the lead is what causes their moronic brain damaged behaviour. All this hard work and the fact that there is no nutritional value in lard pies, the chav needs to stop for a rest and lard top-up at the convieniently located Mcd’s. (Rotton Ronnie’s as the Americans know it, for good reason) Armed with fresh grease the chav continues on at Asda, TKMax, Matalan, and Lidl. (I did say it was a chav mecca for shopping.)

For chav couples they can also visit the nearby Filmworks to see the latest vin diesel masterpiece while chowing down on more lard supplied by the Golden Arches next door. Yes there are 2 Mcd’s within a 5 minute pram push of each other. Another fun place for the chav is Kingdom of Leather where they can sit for a few minutes on what used to be their leatherette sofa which was repossessed for non payment of the 0% finance scheme.

Fullfilled with another day’s upmarket shopping experience the chav heads back to the chav-cocoon safety of Woolwich to wander the market for the latest in fake burburry and von-crap. After meeting up with some fellow chavs to catch up on their spitting and cheap cider consumption the chav’s day is nearly complete. The Clinton
nearby has especially imported cards from Arkansas just for chavs. ‘Happy Birthday Uncle Dad’ being a favourite along with ‘Happy Mother’s Day Sis’. For the chavette, bulk packs of Father’s day cards are available.

Its now back to their nest in one of Woolwich’s many disgusting estates, after stopping of course at Greggs for another lard pie and fizzy sugar water. If the chav is really ambitious they could pop down the road to Belmarsh to visit their boyfriend/brother/father.

If the chavette needs to increase her benefits she will venture out to an evening at Wetherspoons in Woolwich to be impregnated. Its too bad that this chain attracts these evolutionary throwbacks, as they do decent guest ales and reasonable food.

Dressed in their finest crop tops with Gregg’s filled lard guts spilling out, pink or baby blue trackies, hooped earrings that would provide homes for several dozen parrots, makeup by Bozo the Clown (to pay homage to the big gold sprayed one hanging around their neck) and hair pulled back into the Croydon facelift, (And you thought the face tightening gizmo in that Star Trek movie was science fiction? Not a chance, its real and its effects can be seen on female chavs throughout the land.) the chavette goes in search of a sperm donor, (aka new boyfriend) The mating ritual is too horrifying to describe without having a bucket at my side, but it includes lots of WKD blue, spitting, smoking, swearing, txtn ech otha n fkwt, and shedding of burburrrrrrry boxer shorts. (shudder)

For their part the male of the species tries to look hard by glassing and spitting on anyone that dares make eye contact or attempts to chat-up their
chosen conquest. What fun. I’m waiting for Attenborough to do a documentry on the habits of these lesser lifeforms.

While Charlton itself is reasonably free from resident chavs it is only a matter of time before we are overrun by burburrrrrrrry push chairs. The tell tale signs are there. Mornings along Church lane have become a lesson in dodging their droppings. White lightening tins, bits of half eaten kebabs, Mcd’s packaging, etc.

Luckily there is no chav friendly night life in Charlton except for the row of offie’s and kebab shops near the station. The pubs are too rough for
the poor wimp like scum. These are working mens pubs with a stress on ‘working’ Something a chav isn’t likely to discover during their miserable existence. This for now has kept the anti-social activities of the nocturnal variety of the species minimised or confined to Woolwich.

Perhaps holding a ‘Blazin Squid’ concert in the dome and giving out 50,000 free tickets is the answer. Lock all the exits. With that amount of flammable clothing, flammable hair product, and chavs doing zippo tricks in close proximity its only a matter of time before the whole lot goes up in flames faster than Michael Jackson filming a Pepsi advert. This would rid SE London of 50,001 eyesores in one big ‘blazin’ go.

I’ve experienced some of the worst forms of humanish life on the planet. Nazis in Idaho, French Canadian bikers, Latino gangs in LA. All of these at least have some form of self respect and respect of a kind for others. These von dutch clad wastes of carbon wandering around Woolwich have no such redeeming qualities.